


New Born

by Demenior



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Identity Issues, Isolation, Nightmare Fuel, Season 3 compliant, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 03:18:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11728389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demenior/pseuds/Demenior
Summary: [s3 compliant/inspired]Shiro doesn't know how they found him. He doesn't remember anything after the black bayard. But he woke up in this cell. He's alone, cut off, and confused.That is, until, the Galra start bringing in the clones.





	1. A Delirious Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I got inspired by the idea that s3 Shiro is a clone of the OG Shiro. And then the imagination just took it from there!
> 
> Enjoy!

It's cold.

Galra ships are always cold.

The prisoners rags do little to help. Shiro's are still decently new. He hasn't been made to fight in the Arena. Yet.

It was a delirious beginning. He remembers pain, Zarkon's psyche seeping through the Bond with the Black Lion, immense power in his hand— the black bayard— and then...

Then he was here. Shiro thinks he might remember the feeling of drifting, of struggling and terror as he realized where he was. But for the most part, he remembers the cell. It's where they've left him. He gets fed once a day, a tray sliding under the door filled with slime and goo that's nauseating to eat. He doesn't want to eat, but he has to survive. He has to make it home.

They haven't taken him from the room. There's been a Druid to see him, to speak with him and write down observations. But they haven't sent him to the Arena.

Shiro stays strong. He knows there's an end to all this. While he doesn't know what the Galra want with him, he does know that his team is coming. They're the Defenders of the Universe. They fought Zarkon and beat him, if the rumors are anything to go by. His team is coming. They won't leave him here.

Shiro just has to survive.


	2. The First Clone

The trials begin with a whimper.

The door to the cell opens and Shiro prepares to fight. The Galra are holding a Paladin of Voltron, and he will live up to that name.

Something is tossed inside. A creature. It hits the ground hard, crying out in a voice that sounds like it's gargling water, and then the door is closed.

Shiro's never had a cellmate before. Back when he was Champion, once he'd proven himself in the Arena, he'd been moved to solitary to keep from being sabotaged by other fighters. And for their benefit. Shiro never started fights, but he made sure to finish them. Reputation is everything in the prisons.

The thing they threw inside doesn't get up. It's crying. It's choking, on something, and wheezing for air as it pants.

Shiro waits. This is new. A change in routine.

The thing is breathing too fast, and whimpers. It looks vaguely humanoid. Shiro uncurls from his spot in the corner.

"Hey," he says softly. His voice sounds like a shout in the cell. He hasn't spoken in days.

The thing rolls, on its back, arms flailing and head jerking. It's trying to look at him, Shiro realizes, but it doesn't seem like it has control of its body. The Galra did something to it.

Shiro moves forwards warily, crawling on his toes and fingertips, and reaches out to roll the thing onto its back. It yelps at the contact, but doesn't resist. It's a human. Dressed in prisoner rags, blue lips open and panting with eyes wide and bloodshot from trying to breathe.

It's not just any human.

It's him.

Shiro's staring down at his own face.

"What?" Shiro gasps. He jumps back. What the hell? What kind of trick is this?

The other him, the copy— the clone, the imposter— grunts as he sucks in air. He reaches out towards Shiro and lets out a strangled shout. He's crying.

Shiro's hands are shaking. What is this? What are the Galra doing? That's _his_ face! That's _him_!

The thing sobs, choking and wheezing as it tries to reach for Shiro. It doesn't seem able to move off of it's back. It's limbs aren't responding correctly. It's afraid. It wants comfort.

Shiro musters his courage and kneels beside it. It grabs the front of Shiro's uniform. It's not an aggressive move, it's... it's a plea.

Shiro doesn't have enough medical knowledge to know any better. But he knows something is wrong. The thing's skin is going blue, and there are red dots across his face from where he's burst blood vessels trying to breathe.

"It's okay," Shiro assures him. He bends down to press an ear to the things chest. He doesn't want to look at its face— see himself suffocating and terrified to tears.

It doesn't sound right. The breathing is all wrong. Somethings happened to the lungs.

"I don't know what you are," Shiro admits, "I don't know what I can do for you."

It's eyes are racing all around, but come back to Shiro when he talks. It seems to calm, slightly, when it's spoken to.

The Galra threw it in here, in this condition. They aren't planning on giving it any treatment. This is for Shiro to see. Is this... is this their new plan? They took so many samples from him, so many scans. Now...

Now they're cloning him.

This has to be a version gone wrong.

The clone is crying. Tears flowing down it's blue face.

Shiro's never comforted someone who's dying. That he remembers. He wishes he could turn away and ignore this.

The clone isn't as large as he is— it's sickly thin and missing the muscle mass that Shiro's put on. It has two flesh arms, so Shiro doesn't have to worry about that extra weight. He pulls it into the cell so that he can sit back against the wall, and hold the clone between his legs, lying back against him. Its head lolls forwards, and it drools as it hyperventilates. It's whole body seems to be lacking the muscle to do much of anything, so it's arms and legs twitch uselessly and it makes sounds that might be words. Shiro wraps his arms around it's waist, holding it upright and against him.

This way he doesn't have to look into his own face. He doesn't have to see the fear there. The clone keeps trying to look at him, but can't hold the turn of its neck. It's like a newborn, practically useless as it tries to develop.

Shiro rubs his hands on its chest, trying to be soothing. It doesn't stop crying and that makes it harder for it to breathe.

Shiro tries to talk. It calms, listening to his voice when he does. He doesn't know what to say— how not to talk about the obvious. When he asks questions the clone can't respond. So he talks about anything that comes to mind. His sentences don't follow any thought, no rhyme or reason to these topics, but the clone quiets. It doesn't flail, it stops crying. It's still having trouble breathing, but it's not impeding itself.

He doesn't know how long they stay like that. The clones breathing grows more labored, even though it's calm.

The clone dies in his arms. Suffocated by its damaged lungs.

Shiro tries to take comfort that he was there, that it wasn't alone. He lays it down and lets it lay on its back. He looks away as he turns its head to face the wall. And then he goes to the opposite end of the cell and presses his face into his knees and screams.


	3. The Second Clone

Shiro hasn't left the cell in a long time. It must be days. He's been pacing. He's tried scratching numbers into the walls at the rotation of the guards. He doesn't know how long they're stationed for; he doesn't know the passage of time here. No one comes to see him. He's started talking to himself, just to hear some noise, just to keep from going crazy.

His team his coming, he reminds himself. Saying it out loud makes it a fact. They're going to find him.

The second clone arrives loudly.

Just like the first it's thrown into his cell, and this time Shiro is ready.

"What is this?" he shouts.

He flinches away from the light spilling into the room. It's so much brighter in the hall than in here.

"Haggar's newest project," the Druid says, throwing the clone into the cell. It falls, unsteady on it's legs, and shouts nonsense, gibberish sounds.

"What do you want from me?" Shiro demands.

"Cloning isn't simple," the Druid shrugs, "you humans must know of trial and error."

"So why show me the ones that don't work?" Shiro asks.

"We need to test them, against the original," the Druid explains, "we will continue to perfect the design until they can kill the original. Then we will know we are successful."

Shiro takes a step back. The clone is babbling on the floor, sprawled where it fell.

"You want them to kill me?" Shiro realizes.

"We want you to kill them," the Druid elaborates, "primers, for the later batches. We can't risk you in the Arena right now, so this will have to do to keep you sharp."

"I won't," Shiro insists.

"You will," the Druid replies, "we know what you're made of."

* * *

 

The clone babbles for hours. Shiro takes a spot away from it, back to the wall, and waits. It's him. Again. The muscle mass is better— it can hold itself up. They've improved since the first. But the clone is slack-jawed and wide-eyed, making noises and sounds to delight itself like an infant. Shiro pictures movies of clones being grown in vats, and then released to experience the world for the first time in adult bodies.

He's not going to kill it.

He can't stand the sight of it, but he's not going to kill it. That's not who he is.

The clone doesn't notice Shiro. Possibly because Shiro doesn't move. It starts to crawl around on the floor, touching the small grooves in the flooring and picking at the specs of dirt.

* * *

 

The clone discovers him after some time. Shiro finally decides that the clone isn't a threat. It's his size, yes, but has two flesh arms and no knowledge of fighting. It's barely stood on its feet in the whole time he's been watching. It's a baby.

So he sits down, and the clone starts shouting. It's excited. An involuntary smile spreads across its face and it crawls to him. Shiro tenses. This open wonder, on his own face, is as unsettling as it is uncanny.

The clone reaches for him and Shiro swats its hands away. He doesn't want it to touch him. This close he can see that the eyes are unfocused— the left is lazy, looking away. There's a split in the cleft that Shiro hasn't noticed because it hasn't been speaking real words.

It's him, but not quite.

The clone pokes at his face, curious and interested in the texture of Shiro's facial hair, or the line of his nose.

"Go away," he tells it.

The clone makes a noise almost like a laugh, and then chatters some more. It doesn't stop making sounds, clearly delighted with its own voice.

It grows bored of him and crawls away, exploring the rest of the cell. Shiro turns away from it, convinced that it's no threat to him, and tries to block it out. It's _annoying_.

* * *

 

The clone never shuts up. When Shiro refuses to respond to its pokes and prods again, it gets upset and starts crying. Shiro knows the sound. It's what infants make when they feel they're alone.

The Galra want him to kill his clone. He's not going to.

The clone cries on and on. It tires itself out, and grows curious exploring again, but there's only so much to do in a closed-off, dark room, and it gets upset and starts shouting again.

Shiro takes small pride in that the best the Galra have come up with is a tantrum-throwing baby.  

* * *

 

 

Shiro wakes with a start as the door is kicked in. Two soldiers move in quickly, and Shiro leaps to his feet with a snarl.

They aren't here for him, and head straight for the clone who is shouting in excitement. It's just so loud. It hasn't stopped yelling. Shiro slept fitfully. He's not sure if the clone did at all.

The soldiers don't waste any time. The clone is on its knees and has no idea what's going on when they hold the blaster to its face. It's eyebrows come up as it leans in to inspect the new item, and Shiro looks away as they pull the trigger.

They drag the body out without a word to him, and seal the door behind them. Shiro sits on edge, until he's able to force himself to breathe and let his shoulders relax. He sinks down against the wall until he can tuck his knees to his chest. The nice part about shooting someone in the face with blasters compared to guns is that blasters don't blow brains all over the walls. They cauterize the wound as they pass through, and all that's left is the small scorch mark in the wall to signify anything of interest happened here.


	4. Intermission I

The cycle continues. Shiro doesn't know how much time passes between each clone. They have a lot in common— the muscles are developed enough that the clones can move their bodies, but most are still too unsteady on two legs so they like to crawl. The first few after the loud one have long scars up their throats to show their voice boxes were removed.

Many of them have defects.

One comes in with only one eye developed; the other is a hollow socket. One has too many fingers on one hand, not enough on the other. Another has too many teeth, one is missing a nose. Many of them have internal issues. One won't stop coughing up blood. One seizes only minutes after being put into the cell, and dies. One swallows its own tongue, and dies.

Shiro refuses to kill. The clones have no interest in fighting. They're interested in being alive— in exploring and delighting in things like children. There's no way the Galra can make anything threatening out of things like this.

Shiro watches himself get executed for being useless far too many times.

He carves more lines into the wall. He's been here a long time now. But his team is coming. They're looking for him. They're going to find him.

He just has to hold out a little longer.


	5. A Change in Tactics

Shiro doesn't move when the clone is thrown in.

There's routine to this now. He puts up with them, tries not to look at them, and they die of their own failings or when the Galra are done waiting for Shiro to kill.

This clone stumbles in, a little unsure on his feet. He turns to the closing door and lunges at it with a snarl, pounding it with his fists.

That's unusual.

Shiro watches hesitantly. He doesn't move or speak yet. Usually the clones don't pay him any attention until he talks to them.

The clone beats on the door, yelling in a rage. Its fists hit heavy enough that it should hurt, but it doesn't stop. Usually pain deters them. They're like babies that way. It's not saying anything legible, so Shiro assumes it's like the rest of them: no language, just fresh from the clone-growing vat.

The clone kicks and punches at the door, yelling and growling until it tires itself out.

Shiro's not comfortable sitting anymore. Something's different about this clone.

He tries to move slowly, to uncurl and brace his feet as he stands. But there's only so much someone can ignore in a nearly empty room.

The clone turns to face him, and by now Shiro's gotten used to staring at his own face, but he isn't expecting the _rage_.

The other clones never put up a fight. Shiro's gotten lazy.

The clone clears the room in three strides and tackles Shiro into the wall. It _lifts_ Shiro with the hit and his head cracks into the hard plane behind him. Shiro brings an elbow down into its head, stunning it and he shoves away and moves for space. The clone recovers quickly. It rushes Shiro again, all rage and violent intent. Shiro's ready and tries to move around it. The cell is so small that there's nowhere to go. The clone gets fingers into the loose material of Shiro's clothes and yanks on it. Shiro punches with his left hand, throwing the right out as a counterbalance. His feet slip and the two of them tumble to the floor.

The clone snaps his teeth at Shiro; Shiro clamps his right hand over his face and pushes him away. The clone shrieks, furious, and punches blindly. Shiro blocks as best he can with one arm. He tries to cover his face, his throat. The hits are hard, the clone is scratching at him too. Anything to cause damage.

Shiro gets hit in the nose and he sees stars for a moment. It's enough that the clone escapes his right hand, and then Shiro feels hands latch around his throat. He gasps, trying to get air, and tries to break the grip. The clone lifts him, and slams him down. Shiro claws at the hands on his throat. He's seen this. He knows better. Stop panicking! He's slammed down again. He can't breathe. He can't breathe!

The clone is nearly frothing at the mouth; he's spitting blood down his chin from being hit and barring his teeth.

And then— there's a look of panic. He gasps, ragged, and tenses. He reels back, clawing at his chest and then drops to the side. The clone is writhing on the floor, gasping ragged breaths like it can't breathe. It arches up on it's back, and vomits as it collapses. It's yelling, gnashing it's teeth and thrashing it's head.

Shiro rolls to his knees, gasping for air, and tries to stand up. He can't. He's too dizzy.

The clone dies quickly. The door opens and the guards enter to remove the body. The Druid is with them.

"What— what did you— do?" Shiro gasps. His throat is bruised and speaking hurts.

"We adjusted some baselines," the Druid says calmly, "we wanted to see how a slight chemical imbalance could change your behavior."

"But it's not me," Shiro spits, "that thing is not me!"

They don't bother responding, and then seal him in the dark again.


	6. The First Kill

Shiro wonders if the aggressive clone was a warning of sorts. So far he's managed to avoid doing what the Galra want and kill the clones. They've all died at their own undoing, or because the Galra killed them themselves.

There are so many lines scratched in the walls. He started making a tally for every clone that died. He's not sure which lines are deaths and which are dates. It's hard to keep track when there's no rhythm to things.

Shiro already punched several dents into the walls, screaming, just to have some sort of marker of time. Before and after the hits. Before and after he screamed himself hoarse. His throat recovers and he finally can relate how much time is passing.

The next clone is let into Shiro's cell. It's upright, but not aggressive. It seems uncertain, and spots Shiro as he gets to his feet. The clone is distracted as the door is closed, and then it's the two of them in the dark.

"Don't come near me," Shiro orders.

The clone stares at him, listening to his words but clearly not comprehending. Shiro doesn't know what the Galra hope to gain by using clones like this again and again at him. They're based on him. They don't have a violent nature.

It's wearing a collar. That's new. That gives Shiro pause. The Galra are always trying something new.

The clone moves towards Shiro, more interested with him than anything else in the room.

"Go away," Shiro tells it. He backs away until he hits the wall. The clone is smiling at him, completely unafraid.

Shiro catches it's hand as it reaches to touch him. It's warm to the touch, and its skin is soft. It seems fascinated by his hand, and brings the other up to touch his arm. Shiro thinks again, of being born from a vat and thrown into Galra experiments. He thinks how it won't be long before this clone is dead too.

He lets the clone trace the lines on his hand, and then pushes him away.

Shiro goes to his pathetic bed— some sheets on the ground, and takes them to the corner and wraps himself up. He's tired a lot these days. He stopped counting days as when he woke up, because he sleeps so frequently that the marks in the wall seem to be multiplying at such a fast rate.

The clone follows him, but Shiro growls at him until he gets the message and wanders away. There's blaster marks all over the back wall from executions. Shiro's seen more than enough.

* * *

The clone has meandered all over the cell, and come to sit beside Shiro. He pushed it away, but it's crept close enough that they're touching again. All it wants is some contact, and maybe a corner of his blanket.

It doesn't have long to live. Shiro decided to let it have some comfort, and it screeched in delight as it copied how he was wrapping himself up. It spent a while entertaining itself by putting the blanket over its head and then pulling it off quickly.

It's been the most amusing waste of time that Shiro's been privy to.

The door opens and both Shiro and the clone come to attention.

The Druid enters, with two soldiers. One of the soldiers is leading a prisoner in front of them. The prisoner is also wearing a collar like the clone.

Shiro stands up but doesn't move forwards. The clone stands up with him, and Shiro feels it grab the loose material of his suit like a scared child.

"You have not fulfilled your part of the experiment," the Druid says.

"I'm not going to help you do anything," Shiro snaps.

"You must kill, so we can improve," the Druid says, "but we also must place you in a position to kill. After careful observation of your kills in the Arena, we realized you would not kill unless you had no choice."

Shiro's stomach churns nervously. Kills. Multiple. And he can't remember any of them.

"We wished to proceed with trials and errors, and learn from our mistakes," the Druid says, "but we must also step in when you need the motivation. Now," the Druid flourishes a hand and produces a remote, and in the same movement clicks the remote, "now you will have a choice."

The collars on the clone and the prisoner light up immediately. Both creatures fall to their knees as the collars spark and burn and electrocute them.

"Stop it!" Shiro shouts. He manages to catch the clone to keep him from hitting his head. He's seizing with pain.

"You have a choice," the Druid says, and gestures to the prisoner, "save this life, or save your clone. If you wait too long, they will both die."

"No!" Shiro snaps, "no you can't do this!"

"Your choice Champion," the Druid says, "either one of them will die, or they both will die."

The clone's mouth is open in a silent scream. The tendons in its neck are budging. Shiro's never seen himself in such pain. He feels disoriented. How does he choose? How does he choose?

Is there really a choice? One was going to be killed eventually.

Shiro raises a shaky hand, "The prisoner. Save them."

The Druid nods, as if expecting the result, and points the remote at the prisoner. The collar stops, and the prisoner slumps on the ground, heaving for breath. The clone continues to thrash, making a strangled sound that might be a scream or a sob.

"Well done Champion," the Druid says, "your first kill."

The soldiers take the prisoner and leave the room. They leave the clone where he is.

Shiro tries to cut the collar off, but the clone dies before he can save him.

Shiro crawls into the corner and throws up. All he can see is his own face twisted in agony as he dies.


	7. Intermission II

The clones are dispensable, he has to remind himself. When they don't serve their purpose, the Galra are going to torture them. They've made that clear now.

So Shiro moves fast. The clones are getting better, they might be getting smarter. They walk into the cell nervously, but on their own two feet. Shiro tries to break their necks. He makes it quick and painless, so they never have to suffer, never have to know what it's like to be alive.

It doesn't always go well. These are his clones. They're fighters, they're survivors. Even when they're just been born as cattle for the slaughter, they're difficult to put down.

Shiro's lost track of which tallies are for clones, and which are for days that have passed. Sometimes he wonders if they're one in the same.

His hair is getting so long now. It's always in his eyes. He tries to cut it with his hand, and has to live with the stench of burned hair for days afterwards.

The team is looking for him, he has to hope. They're searching desperately. But Shiro worries. He's been gone so long, how are they doing without Voltron? Maybe they can't come get him yet. They don't have the firepower.

But they will. They won't have forgotten him. They won't have left him to rot in this dark cell.

They're going to come for him.

He just needs to survive a little longer.


	8. The New Upgrade

This clone walks different. Shiro sits up, blinded by the hall light spilling in the open door. He can only hear its footsteps, but the gait is different.

Different is bad.

Shiro can't hesitate. He rushes the clone, arm lighting up to make this a quick kill. The clone jerks, fearful, and brings up his arm to block and—

It's a prosthetic. Shiro's hand hits it's opposite. They clang together, knocking off with the momentum of the blow. Shiro jumps back.

The clone has a prosthetic. Just like Shiro's. It still looks fresh. The amputation can't have been that long ago. The upper arm, remaining, is still red and swollen. The clone is leaning heavy to it's right side. It's unused to the weight, unused to the arm, and now sent into the cell to be killed by Shiro.

The clone's arm lights up, and Shiro responds with the same movement. The clone is wide-eyed, terrified at what's happening. Shiro wonders how long it's even had to get used to the arm. How long it's even been alive.

The arm sparks loudly, arcs of purple quintessence shoot up the clone's shoulder and the clone screams. Shiro pauses.

The clone claws at it's arm, where the metal meets flesh, and rips open the newly-healed wounds. The arm sputters out, but it clicks and groans loudly as it tries to activate again and again.

This prosthetic isn't taking. Shiro's not sure what's wrong, but it's hurting the clone.

He deactivates his arm, but doesn't lower his guard.

The clone watches him with a fear that Shiro's never seen in his own face, but knows quite well. Knowing you're in danger, knowing there's no one coming to save you, and staring death in the face. He'll make it quick. Show the Galra that they're still useless at their science, that their games are pointless and a waste of time.

The arm cracks loudly, and quintessence sparks to life, lighting up the entire arm from fingertip to elbow. The clone gasps, and then starts shouting. Shiro can hear its skin burning and smell it from here. The clone swings the arm, in pain and in distress, and tries to claw it off. It burns it's fingers, it singes it's clothes as it tries to disengage. It can't turn the arm off.

Shiro has to time it right. He lights up his own hand, and dives under a frantic swing and strikes up into the chest cavity. He's good at killing himself by now.

The arm doesn't deactivate, not yet, but the clone goes limp.

Shiro lets it fall to the floor in a heap. It's not dead until the arm turns off. He has to end it's suffering. He kneels over it, and prepares to take out the throat.

The clone makes eye contact with him. Shiro wishes he was better comfort.

" _Hurts_ ," the clone whispers.

Shiro freezes in horror.

It doesn't say anything else as it groans. Shiro can't move, can only watch as it dies slowly from his attack. When its head finally lolls back, eyes unfocused and skin pale with pain, Shiro feels released from its spell.

The Galra gave it a prosthetic. They're getting more confident that they're close to their goal. But they... they're teaching them to speak. The clones are learning to speak. Which means they can think, can learn. Have they all been instructed to not talk to him? Shiro's thought of them as useless experiments, fresh from the lab and thrown into the ring. Did they have lives before he killed them? Do they have friends, hopes, dreams?

They leave the body for a while before they come to collect it. Long enough that Shiro's taken in all the details of what he looks like when his chest has been split open.

He doesn't sleep well at all.


	9. Intermission III

Now that they've perfected the cloning technique, they are working on the prosthetics. Lots of them don't take. Shiro puts down more than he has to kill. Some of them are difficult. They fight back; they have the ability to fight back now. Their arms are deadly; some of them are variations of his arm, slightly modified to find a better version.

Shiro grapples, he gets burned. And then the next clone will enter with the same new burn. It's like a funhouse with mirrors. He keeps seeing himself walk in that door again and again and again.

They start talking. Shiro listens to himself beg for death, for help, for mercy, for his mother, for his team, for any sort of comfort in the end. He hears it enough times that he feels like he's been saying it forever. He doesn't talk much anymore, personally. When he hears his own voice he feels like he's not alone, and the thought terrifies him. Not being alone means he has to kill.

Shiro starts to wait by the door, so that he can incapacitate the clones as they enter. Before they can say anything. The Galra have taken to chaining him to the far wall until the clones are inside to stop this.

The Druid stops in occasionally, and tells him he's doing a good job.

He's not sure why he's not mad at him. Shiro's ruining his entire project.

There are so many notches in the wall. He's lost count.

No one can beat the original.


	10. The Original

When Shiro wakes up he is not alone.

There's a clone sitting in the opposite corner, dressed in prisoner rags like he is, with his short hairstyle that he used to try and maintain, with his knees curled to his chest and with a deadly prosthetic. He's clean-shaven; he looks like Shiro should look. Not this long-haired, scruffy thing that's been kept in the dark for so long.

Shiro didn't even hear him come in. He should be dead by now for a mistake like that.

The clone doesn't look up from where he's tracing imaginary patterns on the floor.

"You don't have to be afraid," the clone says softly.

Shiro doesn't respond. That's the most coherent sentence he's heard from a clone yet.

"They want me to kill you," the clone says. He glances up through his white bangs, "but I won't give them what they want. That's not who I am."

Shiro can't get distracted. The Galra send the clones to try and kill him. He has to strike first.

The clone sighs wearily, "They've kept me in here a long time. And now you have those memories too. It messes with your head, but don't let them win. Don't become what they want you to be."

"You don't know who I am," Shiro spits.

The clone regards him with a sad expression, "I do," he says, and taps his head, "they gave you my memories."

"You have mine," Shiro says.

"No, you have mine," the clone says.

"I've been down here for— for— a long time," Shiro explains. It feels important that the clone know this. That the clone forgets any thoughts it has about being the original.

"No," the clone says, "I watched you get brought in. You haven't been here long."

Shiro doesn't remember seeing the clone come in. He was asleep. He sleeps so much lately. He can't dispute that. He looks at the wall. Are his markings different? Is this a new room? He can't tell. The marks are all so haphazard. He's taken to making dents and scratches in the wall as just some form of entertainment. He doesn't even know why he's making them anymore.

"But it's okay," the clone says, and his voice is calm, projecting confidence and understanding in a way that Shiro's practiced and used dozens of times in his lifetime, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Then they'll kill you," Shiro points out.

"They'll kill the clone," the clone says, "but if we work together, we might be able to save you."

"I'm not the clone!" Shiro insists.

The clone nods understandingly, not in agreement, "It's okay. You're scared, I get it. But I won't hurt you."

Shiro retreats to his corner and doesn't take his eye off the clone. It smiles warmly at him. Shiro growls back. 

* * *

"Do you remember my mother?" the clone asks.

"She's not your mother," Shiro corrects.

"We're made of the same DNA," the clone points out, "so I suppose she's mother to use both."

"The Galra made you," Shiro growls, "you're not real."

"The Galra made you too," the clone says. 

* * *

Shiro's wary of the newcomer. He doesn't move from his corner. Food gets pushed in under the door, closest to the clone, and he sends it towards Shiro.

"We can share," the clone offers, "the two of us can survive this."

Shiro doesn't respond. Because only one of them can. He refuses to see the clones as anything but experiments. They're not real things, because _he's_ the real Shiro. 

* * *

"Why are you different?" Shiro asks warily.

"Why are you?" the clone asks, "you're the first to talk to me. I didn't know you could talk."

Shiro narrows his eyes. He's the first to talk? No, this clone is the first to talk to him. Why is it trying to be so confusing?

"None of the clones have talked like you before," Shiro says warily, "what are you trying to do?"

"I'm being myself," the clone says, "and you look scared. I don't want you to be scared of me."

"I'm not scared of you. You're just a clone. I've killed more of you than I can count," Shiro grunts.

"So you decided to kill?" the clone asks sadly.

"They're going to kill you," Shiro says, "they'll torture you if I don't kill you."

"So you do what they want?" the clone asks.

"To spare you pain," Shiro explains.

"Even if you think I'm 'just a clone'?" the clone asks.

"I have to," Shiro admits, "I hate it, but I have to. It's you or me. And I have to make it home. The universe needs me."

"I can't feel the Black Lion," the clone admits, "I know I should, but I don't know where she is."

Shiro hasn't felt the Black Lion's strength since he woke up. He doesn't admit it.

"You can't because you're a fake," he says instead.

"I'm not a fake," the clone insists, "I'm real. We both are."

It's the sort of optimism Shiro wishes he could have. But if he thinks of all these clones as real, as real people, then what he's been doing...

No, the clones aren't real. Because he is. Shiro is himself, he's the original. No matter what. He's the one the Galra brought here, are forcing to kill again and again and again. The Galra dragged him here, locked him in this cell—

Except.

He doesn't remember getting here. He doesn't know where this is, or when they put him in the cell. He doesn't remember walking the hall, of how they found him or why the team lost him in the first place.

Maybe there's a reason the team isn't looking for him. They don't need to, because Shiro never left. He's there, with them. Voltron is out saving the universe. And they don't know about him. They don't know about Shiro in this cell because he's been kept so isolated and private, hidden away from the Arenas and the soldiers and anyone who might breathe a word of what the Druids are planning.

Shiro's going to be sick.

The clone in front of him makes it obvious that they've gotten his memories. With the way his arm is attached to his neural system that makes sense— there's an explanation there.

"What's my dog's name?" Shiro tests.

"You don't have one," the clone points out, "but you're thinking of Grace."

Shiro presses his forehead to his knees and tries to breathe. It's the correct answer.

"I told you," the clone says, "you have my memories."

"You say they're yours," Shiro says, "you think you're the original?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" the clone asks.

"Because I'm here," Shiro snaps, "I'm the original! I'm me!"

"You're who the Galra made you," the clone points out, "a killer."

"I had to do it," Shiro protests, "if you have my memories you know that."

"I would have made different choices," the clone says, "I wouldn't have become their Champion again."

"You would have died," Shiro says, "and there's a bigger picture."

"Voltron, I know," the clone says, and looks resigned, "but can Voltron really accept someone like you?"

"The Black Lion chose me," Shiro insists, defensive, "even after the first time being here."

"You didn't have a choice then," the clone agrees, "you didn't know what was happening. But you have a choice now."

"You want me to give up," Shiro realizes.

"No, I want you to accept the truth," the clone says, "you're exactly who the Galra want you to be."

Shiro's on his feet before he can think, "I am not! I'm the Black Paladin!"

"You're my clone," the clone says softly, "you're the one they think can kill me. But if you're anything like me, then you won't do that."

"If I wait they'll kill you. Because you're the clone," Shiro insists.

"We'll have to see," the clone says, "but I won't kill you. I promise.

* * *

Shiro's been pacing the wall. He refuses to go near the clone. It's too calm, too sad. It... it's acting just like him.

He's scared.

They've given the clone all of his memories. And it's him. It's exactly like him. He's a survivor. The clone is playing mind games with him. That's all. It's trying to throw him off, to do anything to live. That's what he would do.

What if he is the clone? And they don't want him to know?

Then the Galra are going to kill him. They're going to march in and execute him. He'll be another scorch mark on the wall, brain fried out and body tossed in the incinerator.

If he kills the clone... then they won't hurt him. He'll survive.

He is the Black Paladin. He has to believe that. He's the leader of Voltron. He's the real Shiro. If he takes that as his truth, then everything is right.

Shiro stops pacing to face the clone, "You said you're not a killer. But I am. And I'm the original."

The clone shakes his head, "You're wrong. I'm not a killer."

"I killed in the Arena, I've killed all the other clones," Shiro insists, "and that was my choice. You're nothing but a copy, a fake!"

"Even if that were true," the clone says carefully, "which one of us should survive, then? The one who keeps tally of his murders, or the one who refuses to kill anymore?"

Mind games, Shiro reminds himself. This is all mind games. If this clone thinks it's anything like him, then it knows Shiro's already beyond redemption. Shiro's hurt people, he's killed more. If the clone thinks Shiro's any kind of hero, then the Galra aren't making as good of clones as they think.

 "I'm going to survive, because I'm the original," Shiro declares, "and you're going to have to kill me to stop me."

The clone hasn't moved in a long time, his legs are probably asleep. Meanwhile Shiro's been pacing. He has the advantage of already being on his feet.

The clone can fight as much as he wants, he can want to survive as much as Shiro, but in the end, Shiro is the original. He's not going to be killed by a copy.

* * *

The clone grabs him by the front of his shirt, hand shaking, while his broken prosthetic sparks and leaks quintessence onto the floor. He's bloody, teeth knocked out and nose smashed to pulp.

"When— when you— get out," he gasps, choking on blood, "you're not— not bad. Take care of— take care of— them."

Shiro doesn't get the chance to finish him off cleanly. He dies, still trying to talk. His hand goes limp, letting go of Shiro's shirt, and drops to his side.

Shiro's kneeling over who he used to be. His long hair is matted with blood. He's breathing heavy. It was a difficult fight. The clone kept begging for a truce. His empathy ended up being his downfall.

The door opens and the Druid walks in with his soldier entourage. The soldiers get to work removing the body. This was one of Shiro's messiest kills. This clone bled red, just like Shiro. They all bleed red. The cell will probably need to be hosed down to be cleaned.

"Well done," the Druid praises, "you're exceeding our expectations."

Shiro stares at him. Why does he keep praising him? Why isn't the Druid mad? Shiro keeps killing the copies. No one can beat the original.

"Only a few more trials," the Druid comforts him, "and then you will be ready for Project Kuron."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now imagine Shiro escaping this, and making it home. He's safe, he's where he belongs...
> 
> But he'll never know if he's the original or not...
> 
> :)


End file.
